Alone in the Wilds
by Blackadder261
Summary: Tracer and her newly-assigned partner, Agent 'Omega' Lamont, find themselves alone in hostile territory after an operation goes awry. Rated M for language and a graphic description later on.
1. 1: The FNG

Author's Notes:

Alright, this is the first of what I hope to be a number of non-canon Overwatch stories, looking at possibilities of operations during the Omnic Crisis. I'll likely be introducing non-canon characters into the mix as well: I know that this may seem irritating, given the pretty large existing character base, but I felt it might be an idea to try out. Also, aside from Tracer, Morrison, and perhaps Winston, I need to learn more of the character's personas so as to accurately portray them in these stories.

On the note of the non-canons, you may notice them be referred to by two different names in the space of a paragraph. Sorry if that happens, I just can't quite settle on names easily. I really sympathise with professional writers, who do this as a means of income rather than a hobby. This story's already on Edit #14 or so, as I've had to come back and change something and re-upload, and fix typos and... you get the idea.

I'll try to keep up with posting new chapters as much as I can. No guarantees though, I'm quite busy between now and January.

I've rated this story T to be on the safe side. Don't wanna get banned on my first chapter.

Contains mild language. Possibly a few suggestive themes and occurrences.

EDIT: I've decided to remove the dates from the story other than those referring to the past. I couldn't settle onwhat was reasonable and close-to-canon for the story so I've decided that no dates is better than wildly inaccurate dates.

1: The FNG

Watchpoint Gibraltar. 1800 hours GMT.

Tracer sat up and looked across the mess hall at the new guy, or FNG. He looked as battle-worn as Morrison, flanking him on his right side, yet no older than her, if that. And a little scrawny, too.

He walked across from the entrance toward her, directed by Morrison.

"Tracer, this is your new partner for Ops until he's got a few miles on the clock with Overwatch", Morrison begun.

"Yeah, like I need them, Jack."

"That's 'Commander', Omega.", Morrison cut in. Obviously, this FNG, Lamont or whoever he was, definitely hated authority. How had she had the misfortune of being assigned him, rather than being taken under Reyes' wing in Blackwatch? That said, she noted him wince ever so slightly at the use of his callsign.

"Tracer, eh?" He turned around, a quizzical look on his face, "odd name to have."

She looked at him, head cocked slightly as though to say, _who the **hell** do you think you are?_. "It's my callsign".

The stranger gave out a slight laugh, before retorting, "I work better in a first name basis. I don't trust people if I don't know them on a first-name basis."

She stared blankly at him for a moment, deciding what would be the best action: or at least, the action least likely to see her reprimanded by Morrison.

"Lena. Lena Oxten."

The stranger gave a wry grin, and extended his hand.

"Nice enough name. The name's Lamont. James Lamont."

Lena snorted with laughter, "Heh! That sounds a bit like 'James Bond', don't you think?"

James' smile widened. "I know."

Morrison, even smiling slightly at how James had managed to bond somewhat with Tracer, simply noted "I'm glad to see you two are getting along already. Briefing's at 1900. I'll leave you two to get to know each other a little more."

With that, he turned and left. As he disappeared around the edge of the opening into the hall, Tracer turned to her new accomplice.

"You really don't seem to have a penchant for following orders, do ya, love?"

Now she got a slightly better look at him as he sat down beside her. He was dressed in what looked like an old pair of British issue combat pants- the type that had been phased out of front-line units years ago- with an olive-coloured T- shirt on top. She could see the tattoo on his right shoulder.

A black and yellow symbol. She recognised it from her time in the RAF and various Test Flight Squadrons. Radiation.

 _Why_ he had it was another question.

"I know. It's just not something you get used to again too easily, when you've worked freelance for the past five years or so-" He stopped, noting the somewhat shocked look on Tracer's face. "-not that kind of freelance. God, how immoral do you think I am, thinking I'd work for sodding Talon?" He snapped.

"Sorry."

His apparent anger dissipated.

"Ah, it's nothing. Don't look so glum about it, most people respond like that to the word 'Freelance' these days. No, I was a mercenary, working for whoever needed someone who could whack Omnics. Before that, I was with Secret Intelligence.

 **That's** where 'Omega' comes from"

"It's a bit of a sick joke. On another note, I noticed you ogling the ink earlier, so I might as well put you out of your misery." grinning a little as she noticed her flushing slightly, "that one was me. That's a story for another day."

She hadn't realised he had that sharp an eye. Perhaps he was a sniper? It'd explain his eyes being as sharp as his mind.

"And I guessed by your first response, you're not too pleased to have to babysit me on this run."

"Right. How come you're not assigned to- "

"Blackwatch? Easy enough: they do the kinds of things I used to, but I don't like their morals. Besides, Morrison figured it'd be good to have someone the same as you yet different to work with."

She took a glance at her watch. "Dammit, we should get moving."

"Yeah, let's. Last one there owes the other a pint when we get back?"

She grinned, smugly. _Boy, this Rookie is about to get one hell of a shock_. _And lose a pint..._


	2. 2: One Way Ticket

Author's Note:

Sorry if I seem to be removing, editing and re-adding chapters to this story.

I'm still pretty new to this writing- well, not exactly new but rusty nonetheless- and having a keyboard with keys that don't always work isn't helpful.

Also, the progress on this story may slow over the next few weeks as I'm away next week, and most of what was written so far was written _before_ I'd set this up. And I'm still not sure where exactly I want to take this- don't worry, nothing inappropriate: I know my start point- as outlined already in Chapter 1- and I know my desired end point- the pair of them managing to reach safety in some capacity- but I don't quite know everything I wan to put between those two points.

If you notice anything that's not quite right, e.g. letters missing from words ('he' rather than 'the' etc.) then feel free to mention it in the review section and I'll put it right asap!

Also, if you want to suggest ideas for my next story, fire away. Be aware that I'm not going to write any stories of a massively sexual nature. Suggestive themes or forms of torture (those which are not _Casino Royale-_ esque, anyhow) yes, but I draw the line at that.

Thanks!

Blackadder.

2: One way Ticket

Watchpoint Gibraltar. 1920 hours GMT.

"We've identified a facility deep within Latin America- namely northern Brazil- that appears to be large enough to produce all kinds of nasties: Bastions, Titans, Valkyries, you name it. Now, normally, we'd notify the local government and let them bomb hell out of the place. However, the Brazilian government isn't taking too kindly to our advice right now. That, and the fact that Rio is a hornet's nest of Omnics. Suffice to say that they're more concerned about their burning Capital than some secluded, supposedly harmless foundry."

Morrison continued with his briefing, noting the usual look of boredom on Tracer's face. It struck him as odd that despite Omega's earlier disregard for authority, he seemed somewhat engaged with the briefing. Evidently, his contact at Secret Intelligence had been right about his suitability for this kind of work. "That, and the fact that we aren't officially cleared to operate in Brazil as of yet."

Omega shot an evil glance across at Tracer. If he'd known she could teleport, he'd have thought twice about betting a pint. She returned his glare and smiled. Oh, how he would love to see a spot of karma.

"Right. What's the plan then?"

"Quite simple: You'll fly from this Watchpoint, via Ascension, to a small covert base, codename 'Hotel America', on the border with Columbia. You'll finish your prep there, and we'll send through any further intel before you deploy. If anything goes wrong, that's the closest base you'll be able to pull out to."

Morrison paused.

"One more thing: this is a Black-light Operation. I assume you know what those are still, Omega?"

"Obviously, _Commander_ :"returned Lamont, with a somewhat sarcastic emphasis on 'Commander', "Five years out of the Service hasn't seen me hit the flush button, so to speak- in short, once we cross into Brazil we can't expect any cavalry over the hill except our exfil, and if anything goes wrong… you deny any knowledge of the op and _WE_ are left to our fates. That about sum it up?"

"Indeed. Best of luck to you both."

As they left the briefing, Tracer quipped "Boy, "O", you didn't seem too happy about Commander Morrison sending us in under these conditions."

Omega stopped and looked her in the eye. She could see something wasn't right in there. She didn't know what, but something…

"I don't know. Any time I go on these types of Op, they always seem to go as badly wrong as they could possibly go. I suppose this is the perfect blooding for a newbie, eh?" The look in his eyes had gone, replaced by the somewhat mischievous look that she had seen when she had first met him a few hours earlier.

"Oh, and James will do just fine, thank you."

30 miles from site Hotel America. 0530 hours local time.

Tracer had noticed Omega hadn't stopped dismantling and cleaning his rifle for most of the journey from Ascension. It looked quite an old thing, at least 20 years old. Some type of marksman's rifle for definite.

That said, it seemed to have a few personal tweaks: under the barrel set what looked like the plasma launcher from a Bastion-G series.

She also noticed he had changed into a different uniform of sorts before they left: in place of the black patterned fatigues, he was now wearing tropic-pattern fatigues, with a light jacket over his t-shirt. Except This looked to be even older, maybe even from the last century.

This guy seemed to be the real deal, if a little outdated. Also, she noticed a bulge on his right wrist. _A watch, probably_. Among the pieces of equipment fitted to him was a light load-carrying belt for explosives and suchlike- again, an outdated, yet effective model- and over his left shoulder was a rail of sorts, similar to the type she had seen in armouries for securing weapons. Everything about the equipment he used was functional. No frills, just the bare bones of what he needed.

 _Kind of like Morrison, when he deployed._ She smiled. _Except this guy seems like a right hooligan. And the bullets haven't even started flying yet!_

"How come you're still playing about with that rifle? Surely you've checked it over enough by now." Omega noted the sarcasm in her voice in the last sentence.

"The last time I didn't check my rifle over before battle, it jammed on me and almost got the rest of my team killed."

Tracer was confused by one detail in particular: Omega never referred to things almost getting HIM killed, but other people. Perhaps he was un-killable, or maybe he was like Ana- more scared of failure in his duty than of death itself.

"Right. Well, you sure don't talk a lot, do you?"

He smiled slightly. "Just you wait. I'm frosty enough on Ops, but when we're non-tac I can talk like it's going out of fashion," he paused, "curious about 'ole Eileen here?"

Tracer blushed slightly. Even in the dim light of the cabin on this dropship his eyes were still sharper than your average bayonet.

"Yeah, I've tweaked it a bit. Modified the sights with an updated scope. Nothing has a God day at the office when it's in my crosshairs," he chuckled, before turning to the somewhat oversized under-barrel," and yeah, this isn't exactly standard. Took that as a trophy of sorts during an Op in Kazakhstan. This bastard killed a good half dozen of my guys, so as payback I took this. It's certainly useful for wiping anything out. Omnic or otherwise."

Tracer decided to ask the one thing that was still on her mind. One way to know.

"How come you seem more preoccupied with keeping your team-mates alive than yourself?"

His smile faded for a moment. "There's good reason for it. They're about all the family I've ever known."

She looked taken aback slightly. "You mean to say you're- you're an orphan?"

He shook his head, "No. I just don't remember anything about my family. That's all. And given that's your go-to guess, I'd guess the same about you."

He glanced at the holo-map on the bulkhead next to him.

"Well, we're just about at the service station. You want anything while we're here, or shall we just fuel up and go?"

one hour later, site Hotel America. 0650 hours local time.

The dropship dusted off from the pad, and begun its flight South towards the intended drop zone around 30 kilometres short of the Omnic foundry. Any further away, and it would make reaching the site tiresome. Any closer, and it risked triggering a full response as the outer security net of the foundry would be breached. Additionally, the ship was a drone: Overwatch could barely risk potentially losing two agents on this operation, let alone more.

Some slight turbulence shook the craft as it skimmed across the canopy, maintaining as low a signature as possible.

"So, how come you left the Secret Service anyway?" Tracer chose to ask. If there was one thing she hated more than crossing paths with Widowmaker, it was awkward silences on long insertion flights. And Omega wasn't making things any easier.

"Wasn't my choice: they decided to retire me medically. But again, that's a story for- "

"-another time. You really need a better response to some of these questions." Tracer sighed. "I just don't get why you're so cagey about who you are."

"there's reasons, I assure you. You'll learn them in due- what the hell is that racket?"

Tracer noticed as well. There was an awful lot of beeping from the automated cockpit. Despite being an unmanned sortie, the dropship still had a cockpit for human crew. And every warning sensor in there was going haywire.

Interference? Unlikely.

 ***WHAM!***

The ship lurched violently to one side. Apparently, their safe route to their target... wasn't.

"SHIT!"

Red strobe lighting and all manner of alarms started going off in the rear compartment of the dropship as it spun out of control through the sky. Omega staggered across the spinning bay and activated the emergency door release. The rear ramp of the ship blew off with a clang as the exploding bolts fired.

"We're going to have to jump for it!"

Tracer's eyes widened and she blinked at him. "You're **mad**!" Even in her career as a test pilot- which saw her fly many aircraft that weren't really that flyable- she'd never consider something as downright dangerous as this.

"Have you got a better idea?" he shouted back, as he jumped off the ramp. She made up her mind and jumped off of the ramp, just as another anti-air missile slammed into the faltering ship and swatted it from the air like a rolled-up newspaper to a fly.

As she spun through the air she saw contrails zip by. _Jets? What the hell would someone want to blow_ ** _US_** _out of the sky for?_ The shattered dropship continued to careen out of control before ploughing into the canopy and disappearing in a cloud of dust and smoke.

The canopy below enveloped the pair as they fell. Down, down into the unknown terrain below.

Somewhere in the Brazilian jungle. 0715 hours local time.

10 minutes after the shoot-down.

"Bollocks!" Tracer yelled, pulling at her leg with every ounce of strength she could find, to no avail.

She'd just about jumped out of the crippled dropship without any injury. However, her landing hadn't been what she was hoping for. It had been a soft landing, granted. But a "soft" landing wasn't much consolation when she was stuck up to her waist in what seemed to be clay in a dried-up riverbed. Moreover, her chronal accelerator had gone into its safe mode due to the force of the ship being hit initially.

How useful it would be if it was working was a different mater.

"Okay, I take back calling you crazy. Now could you get your arse over here and help me. Please?"

 _I bet this is payback for me blinking to the briefing and not warning him first_ , she thought.

Still, there was no sign of, nor reply from her partner.

"James… I know you're there somewhere. Stop being a git, this isn't funny."

So far, she'd tried to writhe her way free. That hadn't achieved anything besides tiring her out somewhat and aggravating her more. She'd been in the jungle for less than half an hour and was already starting to decide that leaving, preferably as soon as possible, was her preferred choice.

 _For fuck's sake, why is it always me that this kind of fucking thing happens to?!_ she thought. Trying to move just seemed to make her sink slightly more, and she didn't dare to try and use her hands to push against the surface. Given her current situation, getting her hands- or worse yet, arms- stuck wouldn't make things much better.

 _I just hope this gunk- and this bloody awful stench- can be washed out._

As time went on, she became somewhat more concerned about what had happened to Omega. She'd seen him falling somewhat less gracefully into the jungle. They'd jumped only a few feet above the canopy, but _that_ was elevated about 40 feet off the ground. A fall like that would kill most people.

She just had to hope he wasn't like most people.

About 400 metres South of Tracer. 0716 hours local time.

Omega woke with a groan. _His_ landing had been somewhat less soft. Being a pinball bouncing off of trees wasn't his most comfortable landing in memory. That said, it wasn't his worst either.

 _Bloody hell, that **wasn't** part of my landing plan_ , he thought as he righted himself against a tree. _And- fuck me, my head hurts more than it did after leaving drinks at the Service leaving drinks…_ during this party to celebrate when Omega left SIS, his colleagues decided the best send-off would be to dye and scent a pint of vodka to look like ale. Given that his head felt worse than he remembered it being the next morning _that_ time- and that he woke up in a skip the next morning with what felt like the US Air Force going to war inside his head- this was a new level of pain. Even for him.

 _Doesn't feel like anything's broken, that said I can't feel anything right. And I wish things would stop bloody spinning. Some hell of a bounce I must've had off of the trees..._

As he regained his bearings, he stood up against the tree and checked himself over. _Human pinball. Hah!_

"A minor gash to the head, nothing much more than that…" He paused. He thought he heard a voice. Someone shouting for him.

He set off in what he could best tell as the direction of the voice.

Somewhere in the Brazilian jungle. 0725 hours local time.

"About **fucking** time!" Tracer growled as Omega stumbled through the foliage a short distance from her. "What were you doing, having a nap?"

"Kind of. You know, the kind of nap aided by bouncing off of a whole load of big fucking trees?" He smirked at Tracer. As good luck would have it, karma _had_ befallen her. It was a shame he was a decent person, or else he would have teased her for a little while longer. _That said... I owe her a little payback for that teleporting stunt of hers._

Her expression, somewhat irate at first at his eventual arrival, softened to her normal, less angry self. "Oh. Well, would you mind getting me out of here _before_ a company of Bastions happens to wander this way?"

"Alright, alright... Did they never teach you to look before you leap in Basic?" He moved closer, making sure to avoid the soft ground. It wouldn't be much good if _he_ got himself into the same situation that Tracer was.

She glared a him as he grabbed a hold of her. "Don't get any ideas."

He laughed a little. "I wouldn't dream of it. Now grab hold of my sleeves and gimme a sec..."

A minute or so later, Omega had Tracer free of her predicament and had paid the cost for taunting her, as she wrapped her leg around the back of his as he lifted her back over solid ground and brought the pair of them crashing to the ground with a thud.

"Was that really necessary?" Mused Omega, having noted the expression on her face was not one of irritation, more relief.

"Come on and get off me you daft bugger, we need to get moving. Those bastard 'bots will be here like moths if they aren't already.". Unfortunately for Tracer, despite Omega being about equal in height and weight to her, he was trained in some elements of unarmed combat. Namely, being able to throw off most people pinning him down.

Tracer yelped. She hasn't realised he was that capable. She wondered how many more secrets he had...

"Come on, let's get going already before those spam cans on legs find us!"

Watchpoint Gibraltar. 1030 hours GMT.

1 hour after shoot-down

"Well, Commander, the dropship came under fire around an hour ago and crashed approximately 70 kilometres north-west of the landing zone. Tracer and the rookie, Omega, haven't been heard from since."

Morrison nodded, his brow furrowed. This was most definitely bad news. Losing an agent like Tracer-or her new companion- was not something they could afford to do at this point. Worse yet, if they were captured by hostiles- Omnics or Talon, or arrested by the Brazilians... it didn't bear thinking about.

"Sir, might I suggest that we-"

"I know what you're about to suggest, Winston," Morrison cut him off, "and you should already know the answer. This operation is out of our jurisdiction, AND we still don't know whether either of them are alive."

"But-"

"No. I'm sorry Winston, but we can't risk anything more. As it is, they're over 200 kilometres inside Brazil, well withing scanning range of government radars. The first ship disintegrated, luckily. If we sen another and it left anything to trace us, it'd be one giant political shitstorm for us. Even without support, they will hopefully be alright. From what I've been told, Omega was one of the best that British Secret Intelligence had. And a great survivalist."

"From what you've been told, Sir?"

He handed Winston a holodisk.

"Here. This is his dossier. You might find it useful reading."

"Thank you sir. " As Winston turned to leave, Morrison called after him "And Winston?" "Sir?"

Morrison smiled. "Don't do anything stupid. The last thing we need is another King's Row."

Winston gave a gruff laugh. "Naturally, sir. I'll see myself out."

Winston turned the disk over in his palm as he trudged back to his workshop.

As much as this new agent was supposedly something, he couldn't help but worry about Tracer. _I hope she's alright._


	3. 3: The Dossier

3: The Dossier

Winston returned to his workshop and booted up the holodisk.

Loading...

Loaded.-

WARNING: THIS DOSSIER REMAINS THE PROPERTY OF HER MAJESTY'S GOVERNMENT. ANY UNAUTHORISED ATTEMPT TO ACCESS THIS FILE WILL BE PROSECUTED.

Winston chuckled to himself. _Like "Prosecution" is really gonna bother me._

 **File Reference 2201-440LAMONT-0090)**

 **Agent Dossier- Codename "Omega"**

Alias- James Lamont.

Former Alias- Ryan Lamont.

 _Wait a sec- I know this guy! He was like the Einstein of the era. I wonder why they changed his identity.._

Age- Unknown.

Date of Birth- Unknown. Believed early 2000s.

Specialities- Covert action, Long-Range Penetration, Surveillance.

Years active- 2030-2040.

Reason for dismissal- Diagnosed case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Profile:

Ryan Lamont started life living near Carlisle, within the Northern Exclusion Zone as per the 2031 'National Directive 2117A-Exclusion Zones due to Radiological Contamination'.

It is believed he had intentions of military service, although this was prevented due to a diagnosis for Austistic Spectrum Disorder. As a result, he followed his original calling to become a scientist, specialising in fusion research technology and entering a career in the National Nuclear Laboratory soon after.

He was involved in what became known as 'The Northern Incident', an event which precipitated the Omnic Crisis.

Lamont was severely injured as a result of his efforts to prevent the meltdown of an experimental reactor, instigated by the sentient AI overseeing the complex, known as 'Curie' in reference to the nuclear Pioneer. Despite his efforts, the reactor detonated, irradiating a 50-mile area around it. Lamont and all other workers at the complex were presumed to have perished as a Neutron Burst ravaged the facility moments prior to the blast. _Holy mother of God... This guy's tough all right_

Regardless, Lamont was found, apparently alive and intact 3 days later on a beach near Liverpool, and was immediately placed into Secure Treatment at the Advanced Medical Centre in London. His atoms showed symptoms of a condition unknown at the time, later dubbed CSID- Chrono-Spatial Instability Disorder. This condition left him in a state where his body phased in and out of relativity, meaning that at times he could not interact with objects in any known dimension.

 _Christ, he and Tracer DO have a thing or two in common._ he continued to read the dossier.

Awaking from an apparent coma several weeks later, it became apparent that further damage had been done, as he had no recollection of who he had been. Despite this, his existing skills and abilities- as well as his impressive knowledge base- remained unaffected.

He was vetted for service as an Operative with MI5 in July 2030 before entering service shortly thereafter, having being given 3 months basic training in several disciplines, including advanced unarmed combat, covert surveillance and survival.

He was transferred to MI6 for overseas operations in Early 2031, having shown exceptional talent in the field when deployed.

Operational information is available as individual Dossiers.

Winston scoffed. _Typical, the juicy parts are the ones they don't include._

Fate:

Following the failed Operation Artemis (REF221-019ART-9920)- and the death of a close friend and fellow agent as a direct result- in September 2038, it became apparent that Lamont had been affected somewhat. His operational performance dropped, and his behaviour toward his colleagues became gradually more hostile. He was withdrawn from active service in July 2039, shortly thereafter being diagnosed with severe PTSD during psychiatric evaluations during his rehabilitation. No longer being deemed fit for service, he was eventually discharged from MI6 in February 2040, after attempts to mitigate his symptoms failed.

Winston stopped. _Artemis. I remember that- it was one of the last things that happened before the UN decided we were needed, as an organisation. What a bloodbath that was._

Known activities post-service:

Little is known about Lamont's post-service activities, as he went off-grid. It is believed he joined a mercenary outfit known as 'The Coalition' (REF205-447COA-2409), as an Operative working under the callsign 'Omega' is noted to have taken part in at least 150 documented operations since 2040.

His current whereabouts and activities are unknown.

 _Hmpf_ , Winston thought, _They aren't likely to find him while he's with us either._

CROWN COPYRIGHT 2045

Winston sat back, trying to fully understand what he had just read.

 _So this guy's the real McCoy. Hell, I've heard of him before now. He was known as the 'Real Bond'. And that's why he vanished._

He sat back in his chair. _Tracer's in safe hands indeed. I'll bet she's still hating every minute of being in the jungle too..._


	4. 4: Road to Nowhere

Author's note:

This chapter will be getting tweaked sooner or later. I wrote most of it in my phone as I am now, so it lacks a few things like dividers. That, and the auto correct feature has probably messed up my grammar in places (as usual).

I'll get that done asap. enjoy the next chapter and feel free to suggest anything you want to see in the next story.

4: Road to Nowhere

Brazil. 0800 hours.

1 hour after the shoot-down.

"So, what's the plan? Is there a plan?" Tracer was getting riled. They'd been walking for what felt like hours, and she couldn't say she felt that they'd made any progress. All of the jungle looked and felt the same to her. _And the humidity!_ This place was driving her crazy. Not to mention how horrid it was trying to walk about with all this dried clay caked onto her. She couldn't wait to get it washed off.

"And where the hell are we going? I'm sure we passed that rock an hour ago..."

Omega turned back to her. He was somewhat happier, having found his rifle lying in the ground ahead. He strode up and picked it up, before turning it over in his hands a few times, before cocking it to check it still worked.

Tracer stopped and glared at him. "The dropship gets whacked like a fly and is probably in a million bits, yet _THAT_ survives..."

He grinned, somewhat maniacally. "Yep. Eileen here has seen her fair share of hard landings too. Just a few dents."

Tracer' stare pierced Omega, and burrowed into the tree behind him. They were in the middle of God-knows-where, with no food, no way of getting backup and no idea what was around them, and here HE was, happy that his _BLOODY RIFLE WAS INTACT._

"Are you going to tell me what we're doing or are we just going to wander the fucking jungle for eternity?!"

"Nope." He smiled again, that somewhat maniacal grin he had when he was debating being a prick. "Though I _could_ use the fresh air to walk off some of this concussion. We'll find a cave, and then... you know all those things I said we're stories for another time?" She sighed. "Yes?"

"Well, then we can start getting to know each other better. Come on, I think we're getting close."

She stepped across him and cut him off. How did he know that this WAS south?

"Hang on a bleedin' sec- are you sure that this is the right direction?"

He laughed as bypassed her. "of course. First lesson of survival school. Did you miss that lesson, by any chance?"

"Grrr... I'll get my own back on you later." Naturally, this set him off in a full laughing fit. As he calmed down, he smugly remarked "You? Revenge? Please..."

Tracer snapped. THAT deserved a walloping. She ran at him, aiming to smack him square in the jaw. Her anger turned to shock as he firstly sidestepped her punch, before grabbing her wrist as she sailed past him and sent her sprawling into the undergrowth. Embarrassed, she scrambled to her feetand turned to fight him.

"Good God, who taught you to fight? A drunkard?"

"N-No... Reinhardt did."

"A German, eh?" He chuckled again. "Same thing. Now, shall we stop fighting and start getting this plan on the road?"

"Okay... just one thing."

"Yeah?"

She sighed somewhat.

"Never do that to me again. God forbid back at base, in front of the rest of the team..."

Omega laughed over his shoulder.

"Deal. Now, let's crack on. It's going to get even hotter soon."

"Christ almighty, it gets even HOTTER here? I wish the humidity would sod off already!"

He stopped. "Careful what you wish for-" a loud rumbling boomed out over the canopy. He spun, bringing his rifle to bear on any would-be attacker. None came.

"Oops. Look like you just got your wish. Hope you like tepid showers..."

 _Tepid shower! What the hell is he on about?_

As if to answer her question, the heavens opened and what seemed to be a hundred tons of water fell. Within a minute she was soaked to the bone and her hair had fallen over her eyes, adding to her misery.

 _Oh. Great, now it's raining too. Can this day get any- actually, I don't wanna know the answer to that._ She set off after Omega, who for the amount he seemed to be carrying and the fact that he had been concurred, was moving like water through the jungle.

"Have we found someplace yet?", Lena asked Omega, somewhat defeated.

"What's up with you all of a sudden?". Obviously, he was better than somewhat noticing when things weren't exactly right with other people. Even if he barely knew them.

She sighed. "Well, until today I thought that dying was the worst thing that could happen to somebody. But as it turns out... well, just look at me! I don't think I've been in a more shit state ever!" He had to admit, she wasn't looking awfully rosy: She was soaked through, her legs were still covered in clay, her arms and, to a lesser extent, her face had been scratched by the thorns and other plants they had fought through, her clothes had been torn in places, her hair was matted and in a mess, strands in every direction, and she was freezing cold. shivering.

He put his hand om her shoulder and locked gazes with her. "Don't worry about it. This your first time doing something like this?"

"Trekking through god-knows-where, you mean?"

he huffed slightly in laughter. "Yep. I was just the same on my first sortie out here. You'll get used to it. If you survive."

She punched him, jokingly, in the shoulder.

"I'm kidding, obviously", rolling his eyes at her. _That seems to have cheered her up a little,_ he noted.

As they continued onwards, Tracer thought to ask about the contrails she had seen on bailing out of the stricken ship. "I think I saw jets flying overhead when I jumped out earlier. Do you think someone...".

Omega tilted his head up slightly, and started laughing.

"What? What's so funny about that?"

"Fucking _typical_ \- the damn Brazilians must've mistaken us for a drug-runner's ship!" he called back, between fits of laughter.

"Really? We got blown outta the sky _by the country we're here to help save?"_

he nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. Welcome to why I hate Blacklight ops. Or part of why."

They came across a narrow stream. Omega kocked a stone into it and peered over at the result. He gestured to Tracer to come over to him. She was cautious, guessing he might try and throw her into the stream. Evidently, that wasn't too of his list of ideas.

"I've got an idea, but I doubt you'll like it," he stated, "we could get in the stream. We'll avoid getting shredded by the undergrowth more, and we should find a cave easier. I doubt it's more than waist-deep. Oh, and it should help clean off all of that muck you've still got stuck to you. How's the plan sound?"

She shrugged, weighing up the two options. _Ah, what the hell,_ she concluded, _I'm already in rag order._ She giggled slightly. _and __a bath is in order._ "Yeah, I'm happy to do that. So long as you go first."

Omega nodded. He jumped down off of the bank, before it struck him that the stream was not waist-deep, so much as chest deep. And freezing cold.

"AAH! FUCK, FUCK THAT'S COLD! COLD COLD COLD!"

Tracer couldn't help but laugh. Omega started laughing too: this day may not have gotten off to a great start, but who was to say it had to stay bad?

"Y-your t-t-turn!" He called from the river, shivering somewhat from the shock of the change.

She shrieked as she hit the water. "fuck me that's coold!"

As they move along the stream, Tracer noticed something. "Hey, you didn't say you had a radio with you, you sly bastard!"

"No point, I didn't wanna get your hopes up," he returned over his shoulder as they continued onward "the impact shattered two of the transistors, so it can only receive, not send. It's repairable, but I don't have the parts nor the tools to do it. I don't wanna burn the battery out either. All that works otherwise is the tape player and SARBE."

"SARBE?" Tracer recognised the name but couldn't remember what exactly it was.

"Jee, some pilot you must've been if you never had to use SARBE. It's a Search-And-Rescue BEacon. Hence, SARBE. It sends out a signal allowing whoever uses it to be found, even here.I don't wanna use it unless we come under attack though: as much as the guys back at base will be able to locate us, so will anyone else with a frequency scanner."

"Gotcha. Hey," Tracer called forward, "would that cave up there so?" She pointed to an opening, about 40 feet up a sheer rockface to their right, with a 5-foot ledge protruding out from the entrance.

Omega stopped and brought his rifle up, using the optics to get a better look at it. "Perfect. Nice spot, we'll get up there and then set about making it a bit more homely."

They clambered out of the stream and started making their way toward the cave. Tracer had noticed another unusual thing about Omega: while they were moving up the stream, he barely disturbed the water or made a sound, whereas no matter what _she_ tried she made a noise that was like a dozen operatives charging along the river by comparison.

"You can go first... or has your chest-thingy not started working again yet?"

"Oh, my accelerator? Yeah, it's back up. And why me?"

"Because you can get up there easier. And back again, if it turns out a wildcat lives in there."

"Fine. Wait a second and don't try anything stupid." She blinked up to the ledge, but misjudged her jump slightly. Rather than landing feet-first on the platform, she found herself a few feet above it. She somersaulted and landed, falling heavily on her left side.

"OW! "

"You alright up there?", Omega called up to her.

"Yeah, I'm alright. This cave looks okay. A little dark, but somewhere we can get out of the rain at least. You going to get your backside up here?"

He smiled. _Finally, we seem to be getting somewhere with this. Now if only I knew where exactly we are..._

"Suits me, I'll get up there now."

holstering his rifle onto the rail on his back, he started climbing.


	5. 5: Close encounters of the clawed kind

Brazil. 2100 hours local.

15 hours after the shoot-down.

Having set up a fire, and gathered some other things together such as some non poisonous plants to use for bedding, Tracer's stomach rumbled, almost as loud as the storm outside. She hadn't had anything to eat in at least a day. Still, at least she had some shelter and could get warm now.

"You hungry, Lena?". Omega had heard her from the entrance to the alcove, around 15 metres away. He was busy rigging an aerial of sorts for the beacon, "So that if shit does hit the fan tonight we might have a fighting chance" he'd justified.

"A little, yeah. And thirsty." she replied, somewhat weakly. This constant heat combined with all the extra effort it took to move around the jungle meant that she was in as bad a way physically as she was mentally. _I'm not cut out for this_ , she thought as she laid back against a wall, _not just yet. How the hell does he make this look so easy?_

He returned from his work on the aerial and undid a pouch on his belt, before producing a canteen. He tossed it to her.

"Here, get that down you. I'll see about finding us some dinner. And don't let that damn fire go out or we'll be having it cold!"

As he headed for the jungle, she called after him. "What is it with you and all of this old gear? I swear most of it belongs in a museum!"

He laughed again at this remark. "I know it works, and I know that a lot of the newer kit doesn't work so well. I'll take the proven option any day, thanks."

With that, he hopped from the side of the ledge and slid down to the jungle floor.

70 minutes later.

Omega had come across his quarry. A large Green Iguana, at least 30 pounds in weight. Night had fallen about half an hour ago, but the darkness did not fase him. Among the many changes caused by his exposure to the neutron burst almost 20 years ago, he had partial night-vision. Not quite as good as using an NVA, but good enough to take on most things and see where he was going.

 _One of the few useful mutations I got._

He bolstered his rifle and drew the phased pulse pistol from his right leg. Again, it was an older make- a prototype in fact- but he favoured it over its newer contemporaries because it was lighter, packed a good enough punch and was almost silent.

 _Perfect. Now, let's not attract any trouble. God forbid the metal, clanking kind._

He brought the weapon up to eye level, its sights being easily distinguishable by his eye. The sights drifted to its head. He held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The weapon made a dull *PHUM* as it fired. The sole downside of this weapon was it had a distinctive noise. Too distinctive. No matter: everything had its flaws. Even him.

He moved in to collect his prize. The head, what was left of it, was still smouldering. The rest of the lizard was intact. Perfect for a light meal. He curled the still-dextrous corpse into the pouch that had contained his canteen- a tight fit though it was- and set off in the direction of the cavern.

The cave. 2230.

Tracer woke with a start as she heard rockfall outside. _I hope that's Omega, and not some Omnic. Or worse yet, some wild beast._

As quietly as she could, she drew her pistols. Moments later, the source of the noise dropped into view. A jaguar. And it looked angry.

 _Shit._

She steadied her aim and pulled the triggers. She didn't like killing in cold blood, but she didn't fancy being mauled. That would just round off a bad day.

KLIK*

KLIK*

 _Oh, come on!_

Both weapons sounded off a 'Dead man's click'. The water must've screwed them up.

The jaguar flicked its head in her direction. The problem with a dead man's click is that it still makes noise. Not good for hiding from an angry creature.

Her heart stopped. _Fuck. That thing looks angry and hungry: and I must look like a snack_

She scrambled toward the back of the cave as it padded towards her, slowly and menacingly. _No, no, no! Not like this!_

The jaguar prowled forward, snarling as it drew closer. Her back hit the wall at the back of the cave. She had nowhere to go and two hundred pounds of snarling, furry fury a matter of feet away from her.

 _Omega! Where the fuck are you?!_

The next few moments passed in a blur: The jaguar pounced at Tracer. She screamed and curled into a ball, trying desperately to not get torn limb from limb by this enraged, and hungry, cat. It sunk its claws into the side of her leg and her shoulder, as its teeth sunk into her torso. She felt the warm sensation of blood running from the wounds.

As the blood began to flow, she found herself sobbing rather than screaming.

 _This is it. So much for getting home_ _alive_ , she thought, as the jaguar continued its relentless pursuit of a meal. _Nobody will ever be the wiser about what happened either._

She heard a loud clunk followed by the terrified yelping of the jaguar as it broke away from Tracer. It growled as it turned on its new target. The fight was somewhat immense, but short-lived as its new opponent quickly gained the upper hand. Omega grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck and dragged it to the ledge.

"Get the **FUCK** out of my cave, you overgrown stray!" He bellowed out into the jungle, as he sent it sailing through the air on the end of his boot.

He limped back to where Tracer lay.

" Sorry I'm late, I lost where the cave was-" His smile turned to a worried, almost distressed look as he saw the bloodstains on the wall and her clothes. He saw more clearly what had happened as he got closer. Her right arm had been torn open badly, and there was a whole host of further injuries: lacerations to her right leg from the jaguar's initial attack, bite injuries to her torso, cuts, bruises and other marks everywhere... another minute or so and she'd likely have been a jaguar-snack. _Let's not worry her with the fine details._

"Here, let me take a look at that." He broke out a small medical pack. "You... took your... time. What... What took so long?" Tracer was feeling faint, and could barely string a sentence together. She'd lost at least a pint of blood by now, and more by the minute. He produced an auto injector from the pack, injecting it into Tracer's more intact left shoulder. "ow. What... what was that?"

He took hold of her hand as she outstretched it. "A biotic shot. Kinda like what Doc Ziegler uses. It should stop you leaking and top you back up. you'll be right as rain in about 5 minutes." She looked at him as her vision began to clear up as the nanobots started to replenish the blood she had lost.

His chest had been severely mauled. _I suppose that's the end result when you treat a big cat like your average moggie_. His arms and face were also in pretty bad shape. He slumped down by the wall next to her. Her head started to clear as her blood levels came back to what they should be. "You need one of those as well. Look at you." He looked up at her. "No, I only ever carry the one. Besides- *Uggh*- I've lived through worse."

"How?"

"It's one of my party tricks." He took a sachet and tore it open, before tipping the rust-coloured powder into the worst of the injuries.

"*Ahh!* That's better." He whispered as he propped himself up, apparently somehwat more alive. "Now, can you get yourself up here or do I have to carry you?"

Tracer tried to get on her feet, but her legs gave out and she fell back against the wall. despite her injuries having been healed, she was still weak from the lack of energy.

"Carrying it is. You lucky, lazy bugger." He scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to sit next to the fire. He put her down against the wall before slumping back next to it. She glanced at him as he tended to the metal cup from his canteen which he had been using to cook some of the meat from the iguana. It had only been about ten minutes, yet the wounds on his chest seemed to have almost healed.clotting agents like those he'd emptied into them wouldn't be able to make that happen.

She noticed that he was grimacing too.

35 minutes after the encounter, their supper had finally cooked through, and they started eating. Tracer was near-ravenous: _even if it is a lizard, it tastes great!_ she mused as she ripped into the white flesh, _and I must already look like some kind of feral girl, so what difference will it make if I act like one?_

She glanced over at Omega. he'd had Basel half of what he'd given her.

"Are you sure that's enough to eat, love?" He looked up from his somewhat eviscerated meat and swallowed what was in his mouth before replying. "The training I had in this line of work means that I can go for about three weeks before I even need to consider eating depending on what I'm doing. Anyway, you looked like you were in more need of it than I am."

She noticed that he was shivering. Probably because his body still wasn't quite right after the attack earlier.

"Here, let me help you," she chirped as she half limped, half crawled next to him. She say in against him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"That better?"

He looked at her. Tracer noticed he had what seemed to be a tear in his eye. "y..yeah."

She turned his head back to face her. "No you aren't. Something up?"

He sighed, and took a moment before answering. "Yes. It's just been this long since I last felt- close to someone... If you get what I mean."

She nodded slowly.

"How about your callsign, anyway? How'd you come to get that?"

He scoffed slightly. "At first, it was a harmless joke. Like I am now, I was the new guy. The runt at the bottom of the pile. Hence, 'Omega'." He sighed."As the years passed, it took on a whole new meaning. By the time I got discharged, out of fifteen of us who had finished basic together I was the last. That's the meaning I am reminded of every time it's used. 'The last one alive'. Their faces are written into my mind. Every night for over a decade has been an endless nightmare."

While she looked at him as he explained, she noticed his dog tags, presumably issued to him for clandestine work. When MI6 deployed its agents in battles against the Omnium or Talon, they were given them.

One bore his name. But the other...

"Who's that other name, on your ID Disk?"

"Hm?" His emotions were starting to become more pronounced, as he had begun to tremble. Not shiver.

"Her...She... she was my girlfriend."

Tracer stopped for a moment. _was_ indicated the worst these days. She couldn't tell whether going further along this avenue would be a good idea. She chose to anyhow- she needed to get to the bottom of this. For her sake as well as his.

"What happened?"

"It was one of those things that was a story for another time. we've nothing better to do until dawn, so... so I suppose I might as well open up the can. Better get comfortable."

"Grace? Beautiful name..."

"s...She was a beautiful person, too" he stammered, fighting back the tears as he spoke.

He stopped and took a deep breath, composing himself as best he could.

"It was six years ago. We were sent into Mogadishu, in Somalia. The humanitarian crisis was worse than it had been since 1995 when Gothic Serpent had gone in, and intelligence had put Talon's name to a lot of the atrocities. We were sent in there to get and capture a high command member of Talon, and with his knowledge potentially turn the tide of our fight against them.

They dubbed it 'Operation Artemis.' Most people know it now as 'Operation Slaughterhouse'..."

AUTHOR ENDNOTE

I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I've got a better idea of where I want to take this, and I hope you like how it turns out.

The next chapter will be primarily a flashback. In later stories, the timeline of the story may jump several times in quick succession. I'm not doing it to confuse anyone, it's just that it'll make more sense to do things in a non-chronological order.

END AUTHOR NOTE


	6. 6: Operation Slaughterhouse

Author's note:

Apologies for the slowprogress with updating and continuing the story. Far from abandoning this, I'm on an island in Scotland with no data connection and a Wi-Fi setup that would make it faster for me to walk back to my home about 2 hours away. That may be a *minor* exaggeration.

6: Operation Slaughterhouse

Six Years Earlier...

Mogadishu, Somalia.

"Omega, you got tabs on our arses yet or do I have to put a neon bullseye on my back?", laughed Mann. Or as everyone called him, Twentymen. Mainly because of his brash behaviour when he was fuelled by a pint or three. He allowed himself a brief laugh at this quip. Scanning out from his position on the roof of a bombed-out factory, he had a perfect line-of-sight into where the Talon head- shed was due to show up.

His mind flicked back a few days. The team had only arrived in Somalia a day or two earlier, acting on hot Intel. _The senior Talon field commander, J'lhara, is coming to survey his handiwork_ , they'd been told in the briefing, _and if we can bag him then we might be one step closer to bringing Talon down once and for all._ He'd stretched his legs after that briefing, along with a few other team-mates. the forward UN camp was a hive of activity, with ships of all types heading downtown to get aid to the civilians who needed it. There was a large presence of military force here as well. Most of the TRFs he recognised, but one stood out: a circle, pierced by a robotic snout , looking almost like some kind of Wild Western bull.

 _They're Blackwatch,_ Commander Johnas had told them when they had asked about it, _and from what I've heard, they're some real mean S.O.Bs too. And on better than Government pay._

Funny how job-hunting worked these days: most people in the service had a tendency to rate other jobs using the government pay for theirs as a benchmark to compare others to.

"Omega? Omega, stop daydreaming for fuck's sake," his earpiece crackled into life again. "I'm here, Twenty. And I couldn't miss your fat arse if I was blind."

He heard some indistinctive muttering on the other end of the line. _Probably swearing. lots and lots of swearing._ that brought a smile to his face.

"You two, start acting like Government property. We've got movement here. It looks like our man", Omega knew that voice instantly. Even in the middle of a warzone- with the ambient noise of constant gunfire and distant explosions of improvised explosives and suchlike- her voice was angelic.

"Roger, Swan. I've got eyes on the target vehicle now."

He'd met Grace about a year ago. Quite quickly, they'd become close. Closer to anyone than he'd ever been before. At least as long as he could remember. She was about the same height as him, if an inch or two taller, with auburn hair that came down to her shoulders when it wasn't tied in a single, neat ponytail behind her head. He smiled as he remembered how she'd berated him for stating that she was a brunette. _Holy mother of May, that was funny._ Her behaviour in battle was something, too: hence how she had earned the callsign of 'Swan'. Even in the midst of a hail of lead, she moved like a ballerina. A ballerina with a pair of machine-pistols.

He knelt down and scanned the meeting area with his rifle.

"Looks like our man all right." He frowned. _Something isn't right. For a high-ranking commander this guy has next to no security. It's too convenient_ : _why would he expose himself like this when he knows everyone wants his head?_

As he pondered this, a high-pitched whizzing pierced the silence of his thoughts. He dived for cover as an RPG slammed into the corner of the building he had been on not seconds earlier. All at once, hell on Earth broke loose. Streams of lead started pouring from every window and doorway.

 _SHIT! I KNEW IT!_

"ALL CALLSIGNS REPORT, I SAY AGAIN ALL CALLSIGNS REPORT!"

"Twenty's KIA!"

"Six here- I'm hit but I'm still combat-effective"

"Swan? Swan!"

The staccato of rifle fire continued.

"Swan here. I'm alright, but I'm in a right spot. Can someo-"

An explosion in the background cut her short. Static took the place of her voice.

Omega's blood ran cold. Running the possible scenarios in his head, he jumped down the fire escape and sprinted for her last known location.

Rounding the corner, a bullet glanced off of the wall next to him, less than two inches from his head. He slammed himself against the wall and glanced up, trying to pinpoint the sniper.

 _There._ This sniper looked like a woman, yet... something wasn't right. Her skin was blue rather than the normal peach tones, and her stance was more arachnid than human.

He blazed three rounds from his rifle into the stone around the sniper in quick succession, forcing her to displace and giving him a window in which to dart across to Grace's position in a small cafe. His eyes widened in shock.

She was alive- her chest still rising and falling- but she was in a bad shape. He scanned the room as he entered, pistol drawn. Two Talon operatives burst out of the doors in the corners of the room. He dropped to one knee and hammered a pulse shot into centre mass of each of them.

"Grace? Grace?" He shook her, attempting to get sense out of her. She still remained somewhat unresponsive, save for incoherent moaning. As picked her up over his shoulder she stirred into life.

"It's your lucky day, love!" he uttered in her ear, holstering his pistol and borrowing one of Grace's machine-pistols, before moving toward the exit as fast as he could.

"Control, this is Bravo 6. We have been compromised, I say again we have been compromised! Moving to Extraction point 4. Hot extraction , over!" He screamed down the radio as bullets pinged off the pavement and walls.

"Roger, evac inbound. Sit tight."

 _Bollocks to sitting tight._ He sprinted for the nearest building that seemed to have solid cover. The area around him was a hive of bullets, zipping like hornets.

He heard the hum of a dropship above. He glanced up to check on it. The logo underneath its belly made his blood run cold. _Talon_. In the moment he was preoccupied, the sniper reappeared, sending a round through his shoulder and into Grace. He cried out and spun to the ground. He brought his rifle up as he fought over the agony of a hole in his shoulder and got his first proper look at the sniper.

She- if this thing could be called "she"- had skin that looked more purple in colour, and a visor made up of red optics. Like a spider's eyes.

The figure jumped onto the dropship, and with that it sped over the rooftops and out of sight.

He carried on to where his evacuation dropship had barely touched down, sprinted aboard the ramp and lowered Grace's barely-alive corpse onto the floor as the ramp closed, expediting the shattered remnants of the team out of downtown Mogadishu.

The team medic battled to stabilise her many injuries, a hopeless prospect.

"Look, you're going to be alright Grace, just stay awake!"

Her breath laboured. With what must have been her dying reserves of energy, she grabbed Omega's shoulders as he kneeled beside her. Supporting her with his arms, she kissed him. "Goodbye...James..." she whispered, at which point he felt her body go limp in his arms.

He broke down, burying his face in her still-warm shoulder. As he regained composure slightly a few minutes later, he took one of her dog tags, replacing it with one of his.

He sat back against the side of the bulkhead, buried his head in his hands and continued sobbing, inconsolable and broken.

Brazil, Present day.

2330 hours.

Omega finished. His eyes were filled with tears. "She... She was all I had. I lost all memory of my family. Now... I've got nothing left."

Tracer pulled him over with her arm, still wrapped around his shoulder.

"Well, you've got me now. If that's any compensation." She quipped, trying to snap him out of the darkened mood that had beset him.

"What happened to your family anyway? And you, for that matter? I heard something about an accident..."

He smiled slightly. "Well, it's one of those things I suppose: one that makes me wish I had your abilities."

Her look pierced the side of his cheek. "Do you have even the _slightest_ idea," she snapped, enraged at his sheer nerve to suggest such a thing, "How this feels to live with every day? The fear of what happens if I lose my accelerator, and return to being a ghost in time?"

Before she could make any further protest,and much to get surprise ,he moved his finger over her lips, in a shushing action. "I do," he said, softly, "and it's easier to show you than explain." with that, he brought his left hand up, unbuttoned the bloodstained sleeve of his shirt and drew it back, revealing the watch that tracer had seen on the dropship.

Except that this wasn't a watch as such.

It, like her accelerator, had a neon-blue glow.


	7. 7: Revelations

7: Revelations

Tracer almost choked on her words, clutching a hand to her chest.

 _It couldn't be!_ _Winston had only built the accelerator for her, and yet..._

"You're... You're..." she stuttered, still barely able to process what she had just seen.

"...The same, but different," He replied, softly, covering over the microscale accelerator on his wrist "or did you not hear me say that back in Gib?"

Tracer's head spun. There were more questions in her head by the second, and no reasonable explanation for any.

"How come you weren't wearing it there?"

A slight grimace appeared on his face.

"It's why my condition is called an instability, and not a full dissociation. Think of it as a compound fracture compared to a clean break. I wear this on Ops. As a precaution."

She started to come to terms with the information overload that she had just been subjected to.

"Wait a second, how come you don't just blink about like I do then? Surely you can?" It was something that was bugging her. If _she_ was able to do it and he had the same ability then _he_ must be able as well.

"Afraid not. Not as easily as you can anyway. I don't know how painful it is for you, but for me it is agonising to do. Think, 'several million volts and every major injury you've ever suffered, twice over' agonising."

"But... but you can heal that against that. I saw the wounds. That can't have been from the clotting agent you stuffed into it."

He hummed slightly, as though to say "Fair point".

"Yeah, I suppose so. Problem is that it only works to a point. If I take too much of a beating, then it's back to being a plain mortal for me. So the damage attempting to blink would do could kill me if I pushed it too far."

She gasped. "You can die? I thought that an ability like that would have _some_ insurance against death..."

Another hum. "By 'kill', I mean it'll put me in a coma. And there's no way to tell how long I stay under. Sometimes it's a week, sometimes months... if I screw up badly enough it could see me go under for years, or even longer."

"I think you have it a little worse than me love. Mine was only-"

"The slipstream. I know. I was an _Intelligence_ Operative before this, remember?" He interrupted, "Now, are we going to spend the night exchanging stories, or do you want some kip? "

"Yeah, sleep sounds good right now. Wait, are you not going to sleep or is that another mutation?"

He chuckled slightly. "Yes and no. Yes, because one such mutation is slightly better night vision, and no, because it's another bit of training. That and the fact I don't fancy waking up with the sharp and toothy end of a jaguar in my face."

He crawled up to a position by the ledge and took up a watch position.

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"My name isn't James. It's Ryan. They decided to change my identity after my accident as many people still thought it was my fault. Enjoy your nap anyway."

 _This is surreal,_ she thought, as she curled up on the improvised mattress and closed her eyes, _I thought nobody could ever understand what I've been through. And yet this guy has been through it all and more. I wonder what other secrets he has._


	8. 8: Bold Initiatives

8: Bold Initiatives

"WINSTON!" Barked Morrison, " _Why_ , in the name of God, have I got the Brazilian Authorities requesting contact with me?"

"Well, sir, it's pretty easy to-"

"Did I not tell you, specifically, to avoid getting involved in the Amazon problem?"

Morrison cut him off, incensed at Winston's apparent insubordination.

"Sir, if you'll let me explain-"

"You do realise the implications that this could have for Overwatch? This one action might have compromised-"

"SIR! THAT WON'T HAPPEN BECAUSE THE BRAZILIANS AREN'T ABOUT TO INVESTIGATE US!" Winston snapped. "I managed to convince them that we weren't deliberately on their turf. "

Morrison raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Brazilian search teams found the crash site, identified the wreckage and figured out that it was an unmanned craft. When they contacted us for answers, I was able to convince them that the navigation systems malfunctioned and caused the ship to drift off course and into Brazilian airspace, where it was intercepted. I've told them that we had people on board the craft, and they confirmed there's been survivors as no bodies have been found."

"What have the Brazilians said about that?"

"They've given us carte blanche to enter their territory, locate them and bring them out."

Morrison smiled. "Got a plan?"

Winston gave a gruff laugh.

"Of course. I'll assemble Reyes and a Blackwatch team as a search-and-rescue team. Dr. Ziegler and I will accompany them. I'll need a transport loaded for medevac and two gunships. In case we encounter anything... hostile."

"You've got it, Winston. go get our people back."

Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico.

0530 hours local.

25 hours after the shoot-down.

"We still don't have a fix on the locations of either Tracer or Omega," Winston continued as he briefed the occupants of the dropship, "but we've estimated their location. Omega had a SAR Beacon on him when the ship crashed, but he hasn't activated it yet. If he does, then we should be able to locate them to within 200 meters. Mercy?"

Mercy stood up from her seat, and took Winston's place in the centre of the hold.

"Thank you, Winston. Now, given the severity of the crash, we're expecting both Tracer and Omega to be injured. How badly is another matter, though as far as we know they are still mobile. Our priority is to find them as soon as possible. That said, we'll have to wait in Columbia until we have a confirmed location. Any questions?"

"Just the one: what happens if we don't find them?" McCree couldn't let the question go unanswered any longer.

"It's quite straightforward: we aren't leaving Columbia without them."


	9. 9: The Ambush

9: The Ambush

Brazil, 0710 hours local time.

1 day since the shoot-down.

"You've got a helluva lot of energy today, Lena." Omega mused as she skipped alongside him.

She'd decided against sleeping the previous night- partly because her mind was alive with questions for Omega, and partly because being mauled by another jaguar wasn't high on her list- and so had spent the remainder of the time until dawn picking his mind while he fixed her pistols. She'd also found out how exactly he'd come to have a coronal accelerator of sorts: he was a former scientist before the God Program that ran the nuclear facility I worked at went rogue at the start of the Omnic crisis and blew up. He'd been exposed to a Neutron Burst which had killed everyone else in the facility.

Yet somehow he'd survived. And once he'd recovered, he set about making something that could stabilise his other side effects, leading to the watch-like device on his wrist. She'd also learned that he had suffered a form of amnesia, meaning that although he still had all the skills and abilities and knowledge, he was missing any memory since before he woke up from the coma. _Hence why you're now kinda the only family I've got_ , he'd remarked, _and I'm not about to let you down like I let down everyone else._

"Where are we going today then, Ry?" She had started to trust him more after realising that they were so alike.

They'd moved out of their cave at the crack of dawn and were making good headway. Far faster than the previous day.

"I say we make for the border. There's knack-all point trying to finish the job in our state."

He froze and cocked his head to one side.

"You hear that?"

She strained her ears. She could hear a faint buzzing and clanking, getting louder by the second.

"Is that-?"

As she spoke, Omega grabbed her and threw the pair of them to the ground as a hail of fire tore through the jungle.

"SHIT! WHERE DID THAT LOT COME FROM?" She exclaimed.

"I don't know. Come on, let's get the fuck outta here!" he shouted back as they scrambled to their feet. He flicked the switch on the SARBE from 'Off' to 'Emergency' as they ran. _Well, this is kind of an emergency now..._

They bolted through the jungle, dodging bullets as they moved. Occasionally turning back to fire on the advancing swarm of Omnics, their situation grew ever more dire.

10 minutes later

Tracer skidded to a halt inches from the edge of a cliff, leading down into a river some 60 feet below. "Now what?" he shouted to Omega.

"Give 'em both barrels. Let's show them what British fight looks like!" He barked back, as he laid into each Omnic with a well-aimed shot into the faceplate of each. Even with the most precise aim, however, they were quickly running out of ammo and, if anything, the Omnics seemed to grow in number. Their weapons clicked empty.

"Oh bugger. Now what?" Tracer screeched at Omega as they hid behind a rock, with bullets whistling overhead.

"Working on it!"

A plasma burst smacked into the rock, wiping it out and sending the pair sprawling perilously close to the edge.

He drew his pistol.

"Ready?"

"Are you out of-" she never finished the sentence, as another burst thudded into the ground, sending the pair ragdolling into the air. As they fell, Omega fired one round from his pistol, clipping the plasma tank of a nearby Omnic and wiping out a dozen or so in the ensuing explosion.

They got the Cliffside before the water, causing numerous injuries and knocking the pair out. Luckily, they had landed face-up in the river and didn't drown.

0720 hours local time.

20 miles West.

Winston frowned at the display as the group of ships closed on Tracer and Omega. The tracker from Omega's beacon had been active so far, giving the team an easy fix on their location. For some reason, though, it had cut out. As they needed the last known location before the beacon stopped broadcasting, the problem became obvious.

 _Oh Christ no,_ Winston thought as the gunships cleared out the remaining Omnics, _I hope they aren't buried under that pile of tin._

The dropship set down 10 metres or so from the cliff. Reyes ordered half his team to sweep the cliff for signs of the pair while the rest covered. A few minutes later, the full story was becoming apparent: the magazines strewn everywhere told the story of some hell of a last stand. "Obviously ending behind what was left of this rock,"Reyes continues as he explained the events told by the items found, "the marks by the cliff seem to show them being thrown their after their cover was destroyed by this plasma round," pointing at the scotch marks on one side of the rock. "If anything, I think they-"

"Landed in the river! Of course! That explains the beacon not being picked up." Winston cried out, as the epiphany struck him. "Get your men back on board, Gabe, we're going fishing!"

Brazil. 40 miles downstream.

3 hours later

0920 hours local time.

Tracer came to coughing and retching on the bank of the river. _Good God that water is horrid._ She glanced around, trying to understand her situation. As she went to stand up, a bolt of pain sjot through her leg, causing her to collapse back onto the ground with a cry of pain. She checked herself over.

 _Leg seems broken. Right arm isn't doing much better. Chest's been cut open. *Ow! * that cut must be where I got hit on the way down to the river._

Content she was still alive and in reasonable condition, her mind turned to her partner. She saw him, a few yards away. At first, he seemed okay.

Except that he had something sticking through his chest and didn't seem to be breathing.

She panicked _. Oh shit. He better hadn't be dead..._

She crawled across to him, gritting her teeth to fight back against the agony of jangling her broken leg.

"Ryan? Ry? Wake up!" She hit him on the shoulders, trying to rouse him. After what seemed like an hour, he coughed as his eyes flicked open.

"grah!" he groaned in agony.

"Look, you've got something in your torso. I-I think it needs to be pulled out."

He parried her hand as she moved towards the shard of metal protruding from her. "N-no. It's fine. Really."

"Fine? That could kill you if it's left there!"

He smiled, replying "Nope. It missed anything important on the way in. It's only going to make me leak a little bit. If you pull it out, it might catch something. And then, big trouble."

"But..."

"No. I've got other injuries. Too many to fix without..."

"Oh. Right." Tracer rolled over onto her back, resting her head against his.

"So... I take it we aren't going anywhere soon?"

He huffed a laugh briefly, "Nope. Just gonna lay here and watch the world go by."

Tracer's eyes widened somewhat, as a thought crossed her mind.

"What... what if-?"

"Talon gets to us first? Well, I've got a few cyanide capsules. Either that, or a become their playthings again."

"How do you know about that? Wait, never mind. Your _previous_ job."

"Hm. And before you ask, Talon _did_ have their way with me once before. I think Ms Indigo, or whatever you call her, enjoyed that. What's the bet she's into that kinda thing?"

Tracer blushed slightly and remained silent.

"I see... you're into that as well as she is, eh?"

She squeaked slightly. "Erm..."

He chuckled softly. "Don't worry, I won't tell. Except Maybe Winston. And maaybe that cowboy mate of yours... McCree."

"Don't you-"

"I'm kidding. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a nap." He chuckled. "Babysitting you is exhausting." At that, his chuckle broke into a full-on laugh.

"Oy! I'm not that bad!", Punching him in the chest in fun.

"Ow! Ow! Ribs!" He grimaced. That hurt a bit.

"Shit. Sorry."

"It's fine. Now, how about that nap?"


	10. 10: Homeward Bound

10: Homeward Bound

Brazil, 1310 hours local time.

2 days after the shoot-down.

"Well, Lena, you sure look like you could use a hand today," came the Western drawl of the man stood over the pair.

Tracer's eyes blinked open, widening just as fast. "Well, you're a sight for sore eyes, Jesse!"

He glanced over at Omega, apparently still asleep. "The jungle taken it out of him, huh?"

"I'm peachy, cowboy." Omega was wide awake, just choosing to close his eyes. "Now, I take it you're not just out for a wander in the back end I nowhere?"

Jesse chuckled gruffly. "Yeah. I'll dial Winston in. I take it neither of you are in a fit state to walk."

"Yeah."

"I take it you took good care of Lena."

Omega smiled and nodded , before meekly uttering back "Yeah. Pretty much. Now, how about that lift?"

McCree took the radio off of his belt and dialled in the rest of the force, still scouring the area downstream. Within a matter of minutes, a large dropship- the type usually only deployed for entire platoons- dropped into the clearing, its ramp opening on the descent. A pair of stretchers were brought out by the medics on board, carrying the pair on board before allowing the remaining searchers to re-embark before dusting off from the clearing in a plume of unturned plants, before climbing and banking back towards the Forward Base.

Winston whistled as he looked at the readout Mercy had given him of the injuries Omega had.

"Broken ribs, plasma burns, multiple fractures, concussion... skull fracture? Are you sure this thing is working right?"

Omega grinned, from his stretcher on the floor. "Sure it is, Caesar. And I've lived through worse."

"Well, Ryan, I must say I'm pleased to work alongside a scientist such as yourself. Winston's expression changed to a more agitated look. "What did you just call me?"

Omega gave his somewhat trademark chuckle. "Caesar: The intelligent ape. Or did you never watch Planet of the Apes?"

Winston growled somewhat at him.

"Now, now, boys. No bickering or both of you get sedated for the rest of the flight." Mercy decided to break up the argument before it resulted in any _further_ injuries. She'd already removed the chunk of metal lodged in Omega's abdomen, and the countless pieces of shrapnel in Tracer and Omega. Regardless, they still needed to be put into a proper medical facility. Next stop, Gibraltar.

"Well, sis," he turned to Tracer, "How ya feelin'?"

"Better... wait, did you just call me sis?"

"Well, I wasn't kidding about what I told you a few days ago."

She tilted her head over, and pecked him on the cheek. "Me neither, Ry. Me neither."

"Tracer, how's Omega been as a field agent anyway?"

She giggled slightly. "Great. And I'm happy to go out alongside him again."

"Just as well, Lena: Morrison has decided to pair you two together for now. Until things need switching." Mercy did her best to keep a smile hidden.

Ever since Tracer had been transferred to field operations, she'd always been a hard case because of the hidden effects of the Slipstream accident, the untold damage to her mind. She'd been hostile toward strangers as a rule, and her anxiety disorder meant that even when in a normal situation she could barely stay in control of her worries. Yet here she was, acting towards this newbie as though he was family.

"Oh, and Tracer," Winston turned his attention back to her,"You might want to have a read of Omega's dossier. It's hot some pretty interesting information you may want to know."

"Thanks, but no thanks big guy. we've talked over a lot of stuff anyway."

"What kinds of 'Stuff'?"

Omega chuckled. "All the bits that the dossier you have doesn't discuss. The juicy bits...


	11. Epilogue: The ward at Night

Epilogue: The ward at Night.

Medical Ward B, Watchpoint Gibraltar.

2 days later. 0245 hours GMT.

Tracer stirred in her sleep. The same dream-nightmare- she'd suffered since the accident.

 _She was behind the controls of an aircraft. The air streaked by so fast that it looked like the aircraft was going through space rather than the sky over Europe._

 _And then... sparks. The controls stopped responding. She tried frantically to find a way to fix things. A bolt of electricity flowed through the joystick into her hands, causing her to jump back. Her sight blurred as the stricken frame entered a series of bone-bending High-G turns. And then, she was falling. Not through the air. The plane, and everything around her had vanished. She was falling through blackness. Through a void._

She sprung awake, panting and in a cold sweat.

"Bad dreams?" A voice came from the chair next to her bed.

She jumped slightly. "Yeah, Ry. How did you know?"

"The same reason I'm awake at this hour. Sorry if it seems creepy I decided to sit over here. Didn't like my side of the room."

The pain of her injuries, still not fully healed, caused her to sink back onto her pillow. "What time is it?"

Omega glanced at his watch-accelerator. "About... three in the morning. Lemme guess: The slipstream keeps replaying in your dreams?"

She nodded. "Yours?"

He looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"The faces of the people in the man with me the night of the Incident. The faces that disappeared into oblivion a micron later. The faces of everyone I've failed to protect. Replaying every moment, in slow motion, from a sort of spectator-view. And unable to do anything to stop it."

Tracer held the hand closest her, which was resting on his knee. "So, we're alike in more than one way?"

"Yeah. And Winston already explained another thing to me. Regarding you and men." He smiled. "The idea of making a pass at you had never crossed my mind, I think you'll be glad to know. Besides, I'd already guessed as much."

She gasped slightly. "How?"

"The way you act around guys in general. Playful, yet not flirty. The fact that the rest of them never make a serious attempt at hitting on you. That, and I saw you and a redhead I can only guess I your significant other being somewhat... intimate... when I landed here a few days ago."

Tracer blushed. "Oh. I hope it doesn't-"

"Change anything between us? Hell no. People have said I can be a right prick, but I'm not that much of a prick. In any case, I'd make a hopeless boyfriend." He chuckled softly, before coughing.

"You're still not fixed, are you?" He shook his head. "No, not-"

"Why are you two awake? And Lamont, _WHY_ are you out of bed??" The familiar sharp Swiss broke the silence of the ward and cut him off mid-sentence.

"Angie, we were both having bad dreams." Mercy raised an eyebrow. "That figures. Still, you're not meant to be out of bed. Not with the injuries you're meant to be recovering from."

"Yes, mother." Omega replied, his time dripping with sarcasm. Tracer giggled slightly.

"I'll leave you in peace. And if you want to change beds, all you had to do was ask."

Omega smiled. "Got it, Doc. Good morning."

With that, she turned on her heel and went back through the swing-doors at the far end of the medical ward.

Omega pulled out a small hip-flask from his pocket. "What's that?"

He shrugged, as he twisted the cap off. Tracer caught a whiff of what smelled like liquor. "Really?"

He smiled. "I asked Jesse to smuggle it in for me. I find it's better for keeping me awake than a black coffee. Want some?" Offering the flask to Tracer.

She gagged on the smell of Jesse's infamous _Rattler Whisky._ It smelled like piss mixed with pure ethanol and engine oil. _Probably wasn't far off the ingredients lost, either._

Omega took a swig and shuddered as he swallowed the foul-smelling drink, before giving a low whistle. "Now _THAT'S_ some powerful whisky."

"Shift over."

"Why?"

He clambered into the small space on the bed next to her and curled up like a cat. "I hope you don't mind. Might as well try and sleep. And one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Try not to boot me off the bed if you wake up again."

She giggled slightly, shuffling over as much as her agonized body would would allow to give him space. "You always this odd when you're pissed?"

He looked into her eyes and smiled. "Nope. This is just me."


	12. Author Note

**AUTHOR NOTE**

 **Well, folks, I suppose it was going to be the case some day or other, but today is that day.**

 **Effective immediately, I'll be moving my activity over to AO3. I've already set up shop there and got a few stories up and running, and my aim is to have all the LiS stories moved across by the end of the week. Overwatch stories which I've written will be staying here permanently.**

 **I'll still check this account periodically for the sake of correspondence as I'm not as ignorant as some would make out. I'll also be on here to read stories based here anyway, the only change being that no further upsates will be made.**

 **Why, you may ask? Well, despite a lack of a mobile app and a shorter store time for draft chapters, I find AO3 is somewhat easier to use.** **Formatting tools are up to more, the general editing mode is slicker and it'seasier for me to keep track of reviews and feedback**

 **Find my account** **under the same name as this account, Blackadder261.**

 **Until next time, guys.**

 **P.S: This is a standardised message across all existing stories. All stories, complete or otherwise, will remain in their current state.** **All unfinished stories will be retagged as incomplete so as to avoid provoking any issues.**


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